


Tailored For You

by ChaosReignsSupreme



Category: Life of the Party D&D (Web Series)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Tailor AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22735714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosReignsSupreme/pseuds/ChaosReignsSupreme
Summary: Vanden du Argentfort hates being touched. He hates it when people are so close that he feels their breath against his skin. It’s been years since anyone has tried to cross that boundary he’s set for himself.Things change when his family hires a new tailor for him. A tailor who will do everything to make sure he creates perfection. Everything, including, getting too close for comfort just to accurately measure what needs to be measured.Vanden du Argentfort hates Cassian Thiarin.Until the day he realizes he doesn’t.
Relationships: Cassian & Renard (Life of the Party), Cassian Thiarin/Vanden du Argentfort, Cassian/Renard (Life of the Party), Cassian/Vanden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. The Best Tailor in Mirrortail

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I’ve not written shit in so long pls forgive me for how this is. Enjoy nonetheless!

# Chapter 1

Vanden Adrienus Diederik Florian du Argentfort was not one for physical contact. The last time the Regent Prince got the flu, it took him almost a month to get better because he refused to have his temperature taken and didn’t let the doctors get anywhere near his bed.

So far, he has managed to survive over a decade without having to be physically close to someone when socializing. Everyone who has ever, and will ever, visit the castle is given a quick warning to stay a foot or two away from him. As for anyone who has ever managed to find themselves in the predicament of being too near the prince for his own comfort, they are subject to whatever he deems a fitting punishment—nothing too serious, the worst he’s done was have someone stuff fish into their own pants for a week.

At first, the royal family and the staff tried to see if, in time, he would get used to having people in close proximity. That did not end up being the case.

Even the occasional brushing of the arm is met with the icy glare of Mirrortail’s youngest prince, to be followed by a lengthy note on manners and respecting one’s personal space. And sometimes, this was also followed by disruptive pranks that Vanden, to this day, has yet to admit being responsible for.

And yet, on that day, he found himself too shocked to utter a word. After all, it’s been more than ten years since anyone has even dared touch the ends of his cloak.

“—ighness? Is everything quite alright?”

Vanden blinked back to reality. A tailor hired by the royal family to dress them in time for Mattijin’s birthday feast had his hands pressed against his thighs.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even say a word, the tailor sighed.

 _Sighed_. In his presence.

“Is there a problem?” Vanden could feel his cheeks becoming warm, fury bubbling under his skin and threatening to spill out.

The elf looked back up at him, their eyes meet for just a split second before he looks back down at the prince’s thighs, “I am unsure if you’re simply toying with me to waste my time, as I’ve asked you several times already. But could you please spread your legs so I can measure the inseam?”

“I beg your pardon? My legs?” Vanden’s hands found their place on his hips, he raised his voice, “You’re asking me to spread my legs? Were you not briefed before you were allowed to enter the castle?”

The tailor merely raised a brow at him. And then, with a low, exaggerated bow, he says, “Forgive me for being blunt, _Your Highness_ , but how exactly will I ever be able to do what _Your Majesty_ requires of me if _my liege_ will not let me accurately measure what I need for _His Excellency’s_ outfit?”

"What exactly do you need to measure so precisely that I _have_ to spread my legs? I was told you were one of the finest tailors in this country, maybe those rumors are wrong if you have to get this close to someone to accurately get their measurements,” Vanden stepped down from the fitting platform as he said all this, with a huff, he adds, “What a con artist.”

“For your information, those rumors are _certainly_ false—”

“I knew it.” The prince scoffed.

“—as I am not _one_ of the finest tailors. I am simply the best.” The elf threw the measuring tape into the air and Vanden watched as it neatly wrapped itself over the tailor’s forearm, “And if you truly, _truly_ wish to avoid my touch, then I suppose this will do.”

With that, the tailor snaps his fingers and in just a second, all the fabrics and all the clothes in the room fluttered to life and began to fly around the pair as if by—

“Magic…?” Vanden felt his throat close and he took a step back out of instinct, “Stop this!”

The tailor paid no attention to the prince’s demands, he waved his hand to the right and a faint flicker of light glowed from his inked skin before the different materials danced around Vanden and held him.

The prince could feel his breath straining against his lungs, “Stop this now! I am ordering you to stop all of this right this second!”

“I will be done in just a moment,” the tailor said, nonchalant.

“I could have you put to jail for this, you know!” He felt his cheeks burn. The audacity of this man! Vanden had never met anyone so... _infuriating._

“Just.” The tailor sighed. Again. “A _moment_. If you please.”

Vanden took three strides towards the elf and took a pin from the samples the tailor had laid out, pressed it to the man’s neck and scowled, “Stop. Now.”

The tailor merely raised a brow and the things in the room had stopped moving, much to Vanden’s relief. The elf pushed the pin away from his neck with one hand and then twirled his finger in the air. Vanden watched as everything floated back into place, as if his nightmare was his alone.

“Well...so much for trying to make you the perfect outfit.”

Vanden blinked.

“If I had two seconds more I would have managed to sew in the rest of the coat. And look, the inseam is three centimeters off. The collar is half an inch too low. This isn’t any good.” He gestured towards Vanden’s body, the latter looked down and suddenly realized that he was wearing something he’d never seen before.

The coat was black with amber gems and rubies at the collar, silver threads in the pattern of flames lined the sleeves and the waist. His inner shirt was a black, soft, chiffon long sleeve with ruffles just below his neck. Sure enough, the coat looked unfinished. The silver threads trickling towards the coattails come up short.

_How exactly is this not good enough?_

He brushes his ringers against the coat, disbelief washing away as it dawned on him that this is not an illusion, “How did you—”

“How did I, indeed. With such an uncooperative client, if I might add.” The tailor looked at his fingertips and took a deep breath, “If this relationship were to work, would it be too much if I asked you not to murder me? I’d like us to work together. And I would especially hate to have you ruin my outfit. Imagine if you had pricked my neck and blood spilled on my shirt? Tragic.”

“Relationship? Work together? What? No.” Vanden shook his head, “You violated my personal space, made me look like a fool with your magic, and now you ask me to cooperate?”

“To be fair, you weren’t ever cooperating.”

“And you have the _gall_ to speak to me like this? I am your prince!”

“I never said you weren’t, Your Majesty. But as it stands, at the moment, you are my client. And tailoring an outfit that would represent who you are means that I have to actually know your likes and dislikes. And if we can’t work together, then I do believe you will be unable to attend the feast in proper attire. After all, I _am_ the only tailor who has not declined the offer.”

Vanden crossed his arms together, his frown deepening, “What do you mean?”

The tailor’s lips form a small smile, “Well, just as how there are rumors floating about regarding myself, there are some that exist about you as well, Your Majesty. The truth is that everyone in Mirrortail is afraid of you. And they would rather lose this opportunity than have the wrath of the royal family follow them forever. After all, who knows what could set the young prince off?”

“I am not a child.”

“And yet, it has taken me longer to get your measurements than it has taken me to dress a family of seven with three toddlers.” The smile deepens.

“Has anyone ever told you that the way you address your clients could make you lose business?”

“Oh yes, several people have told me this. And yet I flourish.” He waves his hand off, “On that note, I do have other appointments to keep today, unfortunately. So I will be taking my leave. We’ll meet again, the day after tomorrow, same time, yes?”

Without waiting for an answer, the tailor rubs his hands together and blows golden dust from his palms. They soar into the air and around the room, and soon enough, all the needles, pins and threads have been gathered and neatly placed onto their respective drawers. The tailor gives Vanden’s body one last look before snapping his fingers, the next thing the prince knows is that the outfit he had on has fallen to the floor.

“Never do that again.” Vanden wipes off some of the dust from his shoulders and his body, but he can’t shake the feeling of magic away.

“Unlikely, but I’ll take note of your displeasure.” He throws Vanden one quick glance before making his way to the door, and then, just before he steps out, he turns around again, “Cassian Thiarin.”

“What?” Vanden looks at him quizzically.

“My name. I wasn’t sure if you heard me earlier when I introduced myself. You seemed pretty out of sorts.” The tailor gestures at the regent prince.

“Oh. Well..it doesn’t matter. You won’t be coming here anytime soon.” Vanden straightens his back with a scoff, brows furrowing.

A smirk, and then, “Of course. See you, then.”

The young prince watches as the door closes behind the man and waits a few minutes before finally screaming bloody murder.

He hates him.

 _Loathes_ him.

And he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure he’s not the only one suffering in this “relationship”.

Whatever it takes.

 _Cassian Thiarin will_ **_not_ ** _have the upper hand._


	2. The Thiarin Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian, always pushing for his mother's approval, goes to see Vanden for their second appointment only to find that the regent prince is more docile since the last time they met. But with the prince not giving him anything proper to work with and fearing that this will end with his mother being right yet again, the tailor has no choice...he has to teach the man how the Thiarins dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a thousand years shsksl I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update this!

“This is futile, Cassian dear.” Vittoria Thiarin fixed the bow on Lady Farrow’s waist, a smile gracing her lips as she looked at the ocean blue gown she created, “There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the prince will simply deny every attempt you make to design his outfit.”

“You speak as if you know him, mother, but you’d be surprised. The prince can hardly be defined by the rumors floating about,” he makes his way to the platform, eyeing the details on Lady Farrow’s sleeves as he nears them.

_And by that, I mean he is much, much worse._

His mother chuckles, wisps of her short hair gracing her forehead, “It is up to you if you wish to waste your time and effort. Just be sure you won’t sully our name.”

Cassian’s lips twitched. Even after decades of being a tailor in their shop, his mother still had no trust in him. She always had a blank look on her face whenever he showed her what he had created. Unlike his father, who praised him, criticized him and helped him grow. His mother only looked at him with nothing. She would simply say,

_Don’t sully our name with this._

It’s not as if Cassian had ever made anything so terrible that clients fled their shop, if anything, since he started actively working they had more clients than ever before. He wasn’t sure what standards his mother held against him, but he wasn’t about to let her rule over his confidence forever. It wasn’t like he could simply ask his father what she thought either. He didn’t want to place him in that position.

“I won’t.” Cassian straightened his back and walked out of the parlor, his father was seated in his chair, working on some jewels. Most likely, for Lady Farrow as well, seeing as to how the opal gems would compliment the blues of her gown.

Cassian isn’t entirely sure how long his mother intended to do this dance for respect, but he’d sooner never swim again than give up. It’s gone on for far too long. And as much as Cassian loved to dance, this was getting tiresome.

The walk to the royal palace is a short one, Cassian’s wasted enough time trying to get a reaction from his mother. No matter how many times the elf tried to remind himself that he didn’t need the approval of his mother, something inside him sparked whenever Vittoria turned her gaze towards his work. And until the day he finds her looking at his work the same way she looks at her own or his father’s, Cassian will continue to dance her stupid dance.

His footsteps echo in the halls of the palace, Cassian’s own attire cold against the warm tones of the architecture. With plenty of light from chandeliers and the wall lamps illuminating the many paintings in the halls leading up to the regent prince’s room, Cassian’s golden eyes almost take on a fiery glow as they settle on Vanden’s figure across from him. His trained eye already thinks of new designs.

Perhaps he should highlight the waist with a belt, or maybe something to make the shoulders even more pronounced. He wanted to make the prince look like a phoenix whose glare burned people in more ways than one.

_A long coat, perhaps? Jewelled near the collar, feathers adorning some areas. It could work._

Then again, there was still the issue of getting the crown prince to be comfortable with the tailor’s presence. No matter how much he plans and designs, if he couldn’t properly get to know the prince then the outfit would stick out embarrassingly. He huffs, picking up his pace as he tries to meet the man halfway, there was no doubt in his mind that the prince would try to shut the door in his face.

_Make haste, Thiarin. Don’t let him shut you out._

As the thought finishes in Cassian’s mind, he sees the man look up. A frown immediately crosses his lips as soon as his ocean blue eyes meet the tailor’s own gold ones. And then, the prince begins to walk faster. Cassian matches his pace. Prince Vanden begins to jog.

 _So_ **_this_ ** _is how you’d like to do things?_

The tailor isn’t going to let himself be defeated by a sheltered brat.

Soon, both of them begin outright bolting to the door. This calls the attention of several of the staff surrounding them and the pair are met with wide eyes and startled maids, with one or two almost dropping whatever it was in their arms. But the two don’t seem to notice, if they did, they didn’t seem to care. Too focused on the task at hand. Too focused on beating the other to the room.

Too focused that, right before they reach the door, it’s only then that it dawns on the two that _stopping_ at this point would be a difficult feat. One that they might be unable to accomplish without injuring the other. But Cassian wasn’t going to injure a fucking client. He would _never_. The two come to an abrupt halt just a few centimeters away from each other, their chests bumping against each other briefly, with the impact and the running leaving the two breathless and panting. If that wasn’t enough to annoy the prince...well...then maybe the hand-holding was.

Cassian’s grip on the prince’s hand is firm as the other man holds the door handle. Both their faces are flushed and red, with beads of sweat appearing on Cassian’s forehead, but the tailor has a feeling that the prince’s face and ears are beet red for other reasons entirely.

“Flustered, are we?” Escapes Cassian’s lips before he can stop it.

Vanden pulls his hand away quickly at that, holding it with his other hand as if it were injured.

_Ouch._

“N-no.” He says, looking at the door handle and cursing under his breath, “Just...get it over with.”

With that, the prince brushes past the elf and enters the room. Cassian catches a whiff of sea salt as the man passes him. The tailor can’t hide the smile it brings out.

This appointment, much to Cassian’s surprise, is much better than last time. Sure, the prince is still quiet and brooding, but he made very little resistance every time Cassian measured his shoulders or his inseams, and he complained about the colors a lot less now. The tailor wonders if perhaps he’d given up.

 _A quiet client is worse than an angry one._ That’s what his mother used to say. And she had a point. How was he going to satisfy clients if they didn’t talk to him about what worked and what didn’t? How was he going to push for perfection if he had no way of knowing what the client wants?

Cassian could almost see his mother’s smug expression.

“Well...measurements are nearly finished.” He says, testing the waters, “Shall we go on a walk around the palace grounds after this?”

This clearly catches the prince off-guard, judging from the man’s expression. Today, the outfit that Cassian had dressed him in was a stark white with amber beads near the cuffs, gold threads lining the chest with white feathers neatly set under the collar. Yet the man had barely paid any mind to it.

It was simply _not_ good enough.

When a few beats pass without a response from the prince, Cassian raises a brow.

“Your Majesty?”

The young man finally looks away, clearing his throat, he answers, “Why would we do that? It’s not like it’s my job to give you a tour.”

“No, not at all.” He chuckles, “But it could give me some time to get to know you.”

Prince Vanden scoffs, a bitter smile on his lips, “Get to know me. What?” His eyes meet Cassian’s for a second before he looks away again, “Like the rumors aren’t enough?”

The tailor gets back up on his feet, dusting off his pants and straightening his navy blue coat, “Judging from how little you seem to care about what I’ve made for you today, yes, I do believe the rumors aren’t enough.”

It’s only then that the prince looks at Cassian’s creation, amazement clear in his eyes. But that’s not what the elf is looking for. He knows that look. Cassian is used to people being _amazed_. Still, that’s not how his mother’s clients look at her creations. There’s no fondness, no understanding, and there was something else missing. Cassian didn’t know what that missing piece was yet, but he was sure he was going to find out. He had to. Otherwise, he’d never surpass Vittoria.

“So…” he removes the pieces from the mannequin one by one, pin by pin, “...I need to know you better. You wouldn’t want to wear something you don’t _like_ in an event lasting for hours, no?”

The prince doesn’t need to answer, Cassian can see exactly how he feels about the feast just from the dread in his eyes. And while the tailor doesn’t understand what’s _not_ to like in an event with so many of the elite, with such beautiful clothes being unveiled and good food, he does understand how it feels to do something or go somewhere you don’t have any interests in.

When the final piece of cloth is removed, he places all his materials off to the side and gives the prince a smile.

“Shall we?” 

Prince Vanden straightens his back and shrugs. Once again, he brushes past the tailor, the same sea salt scent pulling Cassian in as he does. He makes his way out of the door and back the way he came from with the elf catching up quickly. The staff have left this particular area by now, with only three or four left tending to the plants in the inner garden. And so the pair leave without much attention to them.

Except for the figure hiding behind one of the pillars, eyes following the two as they make their way up the stairs and onto the battlements.


End file.
